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“Seriously. Years. Will you introduce me?”
Thorn pauses, his gaze jumping between the tank and me before twisting his head back to the kitchen.
“I have to check the frittata again,” he says, dropping a quick kiss on my cheek that makes my toes curl. “I'll be back in a minute.”
He gives me the cutest smile before stepping away, retreating to the kitchen. I chuckle to myself as he disappears through the door.
I'm literally the luckiest person in the world.
What I like most about his place is that it’s snug. It makes it even easier to picture us wrapped up on the couch, or eating breakfast at the table I can see through the kitchen doorway, or spending the day fucking in bed with nothing in our way.
And speaking of the bedroom…
My attention swings back to the wind chime, curious about the shadowy cavern beyond. It looks as if it’s from Mexico, with a terracotta Aztec sun with square patterns between the spikes, with long silver chimes hanging from it. He hates noise, and he must hit his head on it every time he walks in there, so why does he have it?
I swerve past a macrame pot, a stray leaf brushing my ear as I make a beeline for it. I've been dying to see Thorn’s bedroom since we first fucked, and I’m seconds away from sneaking inside when a sound drifts towards me from the kitchen.
I freeze, my eyes glazing over as I stare straight ahead at absolutely nothing, my heart fucking skyrocketing, blood rushing straight to my cock. All my attention is suddenly fixed on that sound.
The loudest noise I've ever heard from Thorn is his cry when I make him come. The softest is his gentle breaths as he sleeps. His choked out sentences, his awkward stutters, the way he pushes through to speak to me even though I can see how fucking difficult it is for him. I love them. I love every single sound Thorn makes, but I’ve never heard him hum before.
I spin on one foot, hoping the wooden floorboards won’t squeak. It only takes me thirty seconds to get to the kitchen door, but I’m worried I’ll fuck it up and he'll stop.
Leaning against the doorframe, my heart fucking races as I watch him.
Thorn has his back to me, obviously fiddling with something on the counter in front of him. The bow of his apron rides right over his lower back, the tail ends curving over his ass perfectly.
He stretches out an arm, picking up a pot of black pepper, grinding it over whatever’s in front of him.
Thorn’s moving around the kitchen, totally confident, no hesitation at all.
And he’s humming.
My boyfriend is fucking humming.
And I know exactly why.
I press my lips together, trying not to get overwhelmed over how special he’s making me feel.
No one has ever been so happy to have me in their house that they sing, and I never once expected that I would hear it from my bloody boyfriend, the quietest person I know.
“Thorn…” I fasten my hand to the doorframe next to my hip, holding on for support as I try to keep calm. “What are you doing?”
He twists his body, blushing, ruining me for the third time. “Oh!” he chokes with a look of surprise. “Sorry, I didn't realise.” Uncertainty crosses his face that I have to wipe away instantly. “Is it annoying? Should I stop?”
I shake my head. Now I'm the one who's speechless. I really hope he doesn’t think like that again. Because everything he does is a fucking treat.
And I can’t handle it anymore. Glasses, apron, plants, a pet, and now bloody humming and blushing.
“There’s only so much I can take, baby,” I say, my voice low as my fingers dig into the white paint of the doorframe.
Which is the wrong thing to say when he’s already so self-conscious.
“What do you mean?” he asks, his eyes wide.
“I mean, I need you to turn the fuck around so I can kiss you.”
Thorn
